He was in the midst of an eager explanation to us when there was a rustling in the bushes below, and a dusky figure came up, caught sight of us behind the barricade, and stopped short. But our prisoner uttered a call, and the dark, pleasant-faced figure came on fearlessly, found the opening we had left, and the next moment was down upon her knees wailing softly and pa.s.sing her hands over the bandages, ending by laying her face against our prisoner's breast, and beginning to sob.

"Nothing to fear from her," said my uncle. "It's the poor fellow's wife."

Meanwhile the Carib was evidently explaining his position to the woman, and she turned to us, smiling, evidently ready to be the best of friends, while her manners showed that she meant to stay and nurse her wounded husband, whom she had traced to where he lay.

"Better be friends than enemies, Nat," said my uncle. "But one of us must keep watch to-night."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

SUCCESS AT LAST.

Watch was kept that night and several more, while the days were pa.s.sed suspiciously and uneasily. But we saw no sign of more Indians, those who shared our camp seeming quite at home, and proving to be gentle, inoffensive creatures, now that they were satisfied that we intended to do them no harm.

The woman began at once to see to the fire, and fetch water from the river, and only once showed any sign of resentment. That was on the morning following her coming, when my uncle began to unfasten his patient's bandages after dressing my arm.

This she tried to stop by seizing my uncle's hand, but at a word from her husband she sat down and watched the whole process. After that the morning performance of the surgical duties was looked for with the greatest interest, the woman fetching water and waiting upon my uncle during his attention to both his patients.

The days pa.s.sed on, with my wound troubling me but very little. The prisoner's was far worse, but he did not seem to suffer, settling down quite happily in a dreamy way, and as no danger came near, the shooting and collecting went on, my uncle going alone, and leaving Pete and Cross to protect me and the camp.

Fortunately we had a sufficiency of stores, my uncle shot for provisions as well as science; I helped by sitting down in one particular spot by the rushing stream and catching fish almost as fast as I could throw in, and Mapah, as the woman's name seemed to be, went off every morning and returned loaded with wild fruit and certain roots, which she and her husband ate eagerly.

Some very good specimens were brought in by my uncle, and the two Indians sat watching us curiously as we busily skinned them, filled them out, and laid them to dry, Mapah eagerly taking possession of the tail-feathers of some parrots intended to be cooked for the evening's meal, and weaving them into a band of plaited gra.s.s so as to form tiaras of the bright-hued plumes for herself and her husband, both wearing them with no little show of pride.

"And only to think of it, Master Nat," said Pete. "Reg'larly cheated me when I see 'em first over the bushes; I made sure they was birds."

They expressed a good deal of pleasure, too, over some of the brighter birds brought in, and our prisoner talked and made signs to me and pointed in one direction as he tried hard to make me understand something one day; but I was alone with him, and very dense for a time, as in a crippled way I put the finishing touches to the skin of a brilliant kingfisher.

Then all at once I grasped his meaning.

"Why, of course!" I cried. "How thick-headed of me!"

I went to the bamboo half-box, half-basket Cross had made, and brought it back to where the Indian was sitting nursing his wounded leg, took off the lid, and carefully withdrew the trogon.

"Is that the sort of bird you mean?" I said.

"Hah!" he said, in a long-drawn cry, full of the satisfaction he felt, and both he and his wife chattered to me eagerly, Mapah shaking her head, though, and pointing at the bird's tail with one dusky hand, before holding both out before me a yard apart.

"You've seen them with tails as long as that?" I said, placing my hand by the caudal feathers of our one specimen, and then slowly drawing it away till it was some distance off.

"Hah!" cried the Indian again, and he laughed and chatted, and pointed across the river to the south, while his wife took off her feather crown, held it before me, and drew each long feather through her hand as if stretching it to three feet in length, and then touched the golden-green plumage of our solitary specimen.

The trogon was carefully put away, the kingfisher laid to dry, and then I could hardly contain myself till my uncle's return, well laden with ducks and a dusky bird that was evidently a half-grown turkey.

"Tired out, Nat," he said, throwing down the birds, for Mapah and her husband to seize and begin to pluck for our evening meal. "We must make a fresh start."

"Why?" I said quietly.

"Because we have shot the only trogon in the district, and we are wasting time here."

"Nonsense," I said; "there are plenty more."

"If we could find them," he replied wearily.

I had intended to keep him waiting longer, but I could not hold back what I felt certain I had discovered, and hurrying to the case I brought out the precious specimen and made Mapah and her husband go through the whole pantomime again.

"Why, Nat," cried my uncle excitedly, while Pete and Cross looked on, "it's as plain as a pikestaff: these people are quite familiar with the long-tailed species--_resplendens_--and they could take us to places where they could be found."

"That's it, uncle," I cried, and Pete and Cross joined in a hearty cheer.

"Oh, but to think of it--the misery and disappointment," cried my uncle: "that poor fellow will not be able to walk and act as guide for a month, and it may be a hundred miles away."

"That don't matter, sir," cried Pete; "he's only a little chap. Me and Bill Cross'll take it in turns pig-a-backing him; won't we mate?"

"We will that, Pete, lad," cried the carpenter, and somehow that seemed to be the brightest evening of our expedition, even the two Indians seeming to share our satisfaction, for they readily grasped the idea that they had afforded us pleasure by promising in their fashion to show us the objects of our weary search.

As we lay down to sleep that night I felt more wakeful than ever I had been before, and I could hear my uncle turning restlessly about.

All at once he broke the silence by whispering,--

"Asleep, Nat?"

"Asleep? No; I've got quetzal on the brain, and the birds seem to be pecking at my shoulder on both sides with red-hot beaks. How do you feel?"

"In agony, my boy. I'm afraid we have been jumping at conclusions.

Perhaps the Indians do not understand, after all."

Sleep came at last, though, and the next day nothing else could be thought of or talked of. The Indians were questioned in dumb show, with the skin of the trogon for a text, and we got on more, Uncle d.i.c.k's spirits rising as it grew more plainly that the Indian fully understood about the birds we wanted. In fact, in dumb show he at last began to teach us the bird's habits.

He showed us how it sat upon the branch of a tree, taking a parroquet as an example, pointing out that the bird we meant had toes like it, two before and two behind, setting it on a piece of wood, and then ruffling its plumage all up till it looked like a ball of feathers.

"That's right, Nat," cried my uncle. "Exactly how trogons sit. The fellow's a born observer. I am glad you shot him. Go on, Dusky."

The man understood, as he sat holding the piece of branch in one hand, the bird in the other. He glanced at us to see if we were watching him, and then smoothing the feathers quickly, he began to buzz and whirr like a beetle, as cleverly as a ventriloquist. Next he made the dead bird he held dart from its perch, and imitated the quick flight of one chasing a large beetle through the air, catching it, and returning to its perch, where with wonderful accuracy he went through the movements of it swallowing its prey, and then ruffling itself up again into a ball of feathers.

"Splendid!" cried my uncle. "Exact. He knows the right birds, Nat.

Now then, Cuvier, where is the happy spot? Over yonder?" and my uncle pointed up the river; but the Indian shook his head, and pointed across and away to the south, after which he laid his head upon his hand and imitated going to sleep eight times.

"Eight days' journey to the south, Nat," said Uncle d.i.c.k. "A long way to carry him. I understand," he said, turning to the Indian again, shouldering his gun, bending down, and making believe to walk; but his patient shook his head violently, took hold of his piece of wood, and went through the motion of paddling.

"Hah!" I cried, imitating him. "He means we should have to go in a canoe, uncle."

"That's it," he cried, and he pointed down at the river; but the man shook his head again, and pointed right across into the distance.

"Nat," said my uncle, "we shall do it yet. It must be on that river we pa.s.sed before we turned up this. We shall have to get him down to the boat."

I wish I could write--_No sooner said than done_; but it was not so; for our future guide was not yet fit to start on such a journey. He was getting better fast, but not fast enough, and in spite of my a.s.sertions, I was not recovered from a very bad wound. In short, it seemed that the only thing to do, as we appeared to have nothing more to fear from Indians with two such guards in camp, was to send down to the boat for more of the stores, that is, enough for another fortnight's stay, when the difficulty was solved by Cross one morning.